


From the Sidelines

by darrus



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 04:13:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darrus/pseuds/darrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love triangle where José has to choose between Rui and Aitor and chooses Rui. That's the real reason they left Real, and Aitor stayed behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From the Sidelines

It all started with a call from Nando. On a bright summer morning, full of sunshine and warmth, he’s got the biggest surprise of his life. If only he knew…

“You’re fired”, said Hierro in his best stern voice, and Aitor nearly dropped the phone. But then, Nando was always prone to jokes.

“What did I do?” Asked he in a level voice, not sure whether to smile or panic.

“You’ve got better job offer. From now on, you are Mourinho’s assistant in Madrid”.

After they finished talking, he sat on the sofa, his had spinning. It felt unreal. Impossible. Even two days later it still seemed like one big joke that people around for some reason were playing on him.

 

Then they spoke for the first time.

“Aitor”, voice on the other side of the line was familiar by many interviews and news programs. But instead of cocky self-assuredness he always associated Mourinho with, there was warmth, and gentle smile underlining simple words.

“Mister”, he answered, and heard the man laugh.

“No way. You call me José if we are to work together. No more of this nonsense”. The accent was weird, and at the same time lulling and somehow endearing.

They talked. About the club, about Spain, about players. About life in this country, about press, and more about football.

In three hours José called again. And the next day. And the next.

By the time they met in person for the first time, Aitor was already lost.

 

They’ve met in José’s office that was still barren and unlived in, save for two big photos of smiling children on the shelf. They’ve spent two hours together and it was like Aitor had known him for a long time. José was charming and cordial, in turns friendly and all-business, mixing joke and seriousness in one sentence. Aitor barely opened his mouth in these two hours – and left feeling enthralled.

Then there was tour around Madrid, pointless wandering across ‘Corte Ingles’, José’s endearing “correct me if I say something wrong, my Spanish is rusty”, restaurants in the evening that Aitor chose and José paid for. They talked and talked – about Madrid’s glorious past and not-so-fine present, about youth teams, about Aitor’s own career José surprisingly knew so much about. About things they will have to do.

“I’m bringing my people with me”, told him José. “My scouting chef, my goalkeeping coach and my fitness coach who is also – how do you say that? – my man of confidence, right?”

“Will I fit in?” Smiled Aitor, and José nodded, reassuring him.

 

He met them on their first working day.

“Aitor is the best choice I could have made”, introduced him José, and he blushed, looking around. Trying to guess who is who here – dark-skinned bald man, boy with long hair who looked too young to be sitting there and stern tall man roughly the same age as José. That should be the fitness guy, Aitor decided. He just looked right for the job.

José pointed at the man. “That’s Silvino, goalkeeping coach. José here”, dark-skinned man nodded, “goes by the name of Zé to avoid confusion and is a bit of a genius in scouting work. And here is Rui, the best fitness coach there ever was which I am lucky to have for myself”.

And no more words were needed. Pride in José’s voice, gentle smile on his face, mischievous wink he got in reply, looks they shared for a second, all an instant giveaway. More than closeness, more than friendship, everything was obvious to the man who was looking.

This same second Aitor knew that he is doomed.

 

One can fall into love and one can crush into it – the later happened to Aitor. And even the knowledge that José is taken didn’t help. It was impossible not to love this man, not to care for him deeply, not to answer the care and affection he gave to those working with him.

This affection had to be enough.

All that he could Aitor was doing – to be useful, to deserve praise and caring, to earn friendship if he had no hope to have more. Working with them after hours for a nod and pat on the shoulder, learning Portuguese to make it easier for everyone, always taking the same side in the locker room – how it was unavoidable even back then. Learning to work with a room full of press despite feeling uncomfortable there. Helping in everything he could, trying to become part of the team.

It was Silvino who first acknowledged him as more than co-worker, inviting Aitor to his birthday party. Then it was Rui, jumping in front of Bilbao fan who was clearly looking for trouble, to defend him. They got along just fine with Rui, despite… despite Aitor’s feelings that had nothing to do with work and friendship that was forming between him and his ‘rival’.

And then it was José, his face full of anger watching journalists leave the room, his brisk “They’ll have their press-conference” that made Silvino smirk and Rui nod contentedly.

Never in Aitor’s life anyone stood up for him like that, fighting everyone, humiliating all the journalists, not caring about power of press in Spain, not caring about keeping appearances. That’s when Aitor knew he is one of them.

 

Then in the hot September evening they were leaving training ground in Silvino’s car and goalkeeper started ranting under his breath about José not knowing what bed he is supposed to be in, visibly agitated – and Aitor felt his hands begin to shake.

“I though he and Rui were… together?”

“They will be, as soon as this thick-sculled excuse of a man finally buys a clue. Rui should be elevated to sainthood for still being able to wait”.

But those looks, this tenderness, this relationship that looked like marriage more than anything else – could that be he still had a chance? That was unthinkable, but…

Silvino was looking at him with soft irony. “Forget it Aitor. The only man José will ever be with is Rui, everything else is one-night stands at best. You’re worth better than that”.

 

But he had to try, even knowing that his friend was right. He couldn’t just keep silent about his feeling, knowing that José is free – as free in his feelings as a married man can be.

And José was tender and understanding, softly telling him that it is not to be.

“I am flattered, Aitor. I am… You can’t know what it means to me. But it’s one of my rules – to not have relationships with my assistants. I tried once, and believe me I have reasons to be so sure”.

“I thought you and Rui are lovers”, tried he. José smiled.

“Rui is not someone to have a fling with. He deserves a life-long relationship, with wedding rings, promises and all that, and I’m not sure I can give it to him. So – no, we are not. But I won’t take on anyone of my staff as long as he is here”.

Aitor nodded – what else he could do? And José looked at him worriedly.

“I hope you…”

“I understand. I won’t cause problems, I promise”.

That was it.

 

It was easy to find consolation in knowledge that José doesn’t belong to anyone except for his wife. That there is no happy rival around to contend with. That if he doesn’t have José, Rui doesn’t have him either.

And finding solace in friendship, in feeling special, being special for José. Being his right hand, his man, his voice, and knowing that José counts on him in everything.

“I’ve never seen you so content”, commented Hierro when they sat in the café together, and he knew that Nando was right. He was happy, having what he had – even if there was nothing more for him to get.

 

Then their third year – damned third year – happened. And in the middle of the team slowly unraveling, power struggles and unexpected losses, whirlwind of critic from all sides and helplessness everyone felt, Aitor saw everything change. Slowly at first, easy not to notice. José’s long thoughtful looks. Rui pausing in the middle of his work, smiling quickly. José’s touches, brief but lingering. And then, as an explosion – happiness in their eyes, so unbelievable in the time of crisis. As if nothing else mattered for these two but that something, something that happened between them. Something that should have happened long ago.

Aitor knew it. But still it hurt.

Or, how much it hurt. How painful it was to be around them, to talk to them, to know that smiling at him José is thinking about the other man. To know what is going on behind the closed hotel doors when they finish their pre-match discussions and leave – everyone but Rui. Seeing them in the morning, coming to breakfast together, Rui all sleepy and smiley and José looking content like a cat who stole all the cream. They were living their happiness in front of everyone, and it wasn’t like José to care about anyone else’s feelings.

And it hurt. Oh, how much it hurt.

But he couldn’t let it show – he promised José he won’t be a nuisance. To the last day of their work together he held himself together, as much as he could. Finding relief in internal war raging in the locker room, in fights with press and scramble for elusive success that left no time to worry about own feelings.

 

And then it hit him suddenly, in the middle of already barren office that they cleared up the day before so almost nothing remained of their presence there. Looking at Silvino taping something on his laptop and Rui with his magazines, searching for house near Cobham, he fully realized that everything is over. One more day – and he’ll be losing even the little things he’s had. No more working together, no more smiles, no more harsh orders and soft touches, no more José in every day of his life.

And it left him breathless. He rushed out of the room to the opened window and leaned out. Not seeing, not thinking. Just trying to breathe. Trying to understand that this is really happening. That life without them… without José is going to be his reality from now on.

It crushed him, almost to the point of breaking down on the spot – he would have cried if only he was able to breathe.

“Aitor!”

José’s voice made him turn around, like a marionette some called him.

“I’m here”. For one more day, and then it ends.

Everything ends.

 

That night he tried one more time. Telling José everything he feels, and asking for only thing he could have. For one night, just some hours together, for memory to hold on to when they are together no more. A brief affair, like flings José had for all those three years. After all, he’s not going to be his assistant much longer.

He saw pity in José’s eyes, and the same gentle care that he was so used to already.

The answer was no.

“I won’t do this to Rui”, and José smiled saying the name. “He’s more than that”.

“Wedding rings and all that stuff?” He even forced himself to laugh, trying to save face – there was nothing worth saving.

José nodded. “Yes.”

He still couldn’t cry.

 

José offered him place in his coaching team in London – out of courtesy, keeping up appearances, keeping his word. He refused, because José expected that of him. Because Aitor knew that it will destroy him. This happiness, for all the world to see. This love that he wanted to be his – that Rui got instead.

But letting José go hurt him more than he could imagine. It felt almost like dying. And he breathed in every moment, every second still left to him. Stadium singing José’s name, calling for him to come back. Fans flooding in, depriving them of privacy. José’s heartfelt farewell.

Next day José was gone. Back in his London with people who adored him, together with the man he loved. With Rui who refused another job offer to stay with him.

And he was alone. From now on.

The phone rang late in the evening.

“Aitor”, soft voice on the other end that made his heart race. Even knowing that it doesn’t mean anything didn’t help.

‘Don’t ever leave me’ he wanted to say and couldn’t. José already left, and this phone call is just a formality.

God, how much it hurt.


End file.
